Butterfly in Frost

by Sylvia Day

  “So just like that,” he says tightly, “you’re writing me off?”

  “Yep.” I resume walking. “Better head back to Mike and Roxy before they write you off, too.”

  “I’m not giving up,” he says, following me to the door. He stands at the end of the walk, watching as I unlock the door and push it open. “I can redeem myself.”

  “Goodbye, Garrett.” I shut the door, turn the locks, then lean back against the cool wood.

  His voice comes through the door, close enough to tell me he approached after I retreated. “I’m really sorry, Teagan.”

  Closing my eyes, I sigh. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “I was really mad at Garrett at first,” Roxy tells me as she stares into the lighted vanity mirror I’ve set up on my Saarinen dining table. She smooths ECRA+ serum over her cheeks and forehead, turning her head from side to side. “But Mike and I forgave him. He got a call from a friend of his who’s borderline suicidal—did he tell you that? Anyway, he was afraid if he hung up, she might hurt herself.”

  Turning my back to her, I slide my mug under the single-cup coffee brewer and wait. Can’t argue with an excuse like that. I immediately feel like a royal bitch. Still, the whole situation has reminded me that I’m too vulnerable to risk more pain.

  “This stuff is amazing!” she raves. “It just sank right in.”

  “Excellent! It wouldn’t do much good if it just sat on top of your skin.”

  “How can I get some?”

  “Pick the system you want, and I’ll have it sent to you. That collection is for normal skin, but they have systems to address a variety of concerns. There should be a booklet—”

  “I found it.” She opens the glossy, beautifully photographed booklet and flips through it, while I pull vanilla almond-milk creamer out of the fridge. “He invited us over to his place for dinner tonight to make it up to us. You should come.”

  “Nope. Not happening.” I return to my seat across from her.

  She lifts her head up from reading, revealing glowing skin without a hint of shine. “He was dejected when he came back without you. Really crushed.”

  I shrug. “Why should I have to hang around longer and stay up later because he can’t get somewhere on time, however noble and understandable the reason? I’m not the bad guy here, Roxanne.”

  “I’m not saying you are. I’m only pointing out that maybe he’s not the bad guy, either.”

  “Regardless . . . I’m simply not interested in getting involved with anyone right now. Can we talk about something else, please?”

  She shakes her head at me. “It’s tough finding options as hot as your ex. How many guys can compete with a movie star? Garrett can.”

  “Looks aren’t everything.” And yet I’ve always seemed to fall for that first.

  “Not just looks, although that certainly pertains. I’m talking about being famous and talented and wealthy. Kyler Jordan is a tough act to follow in a lot of respects. Plus, you’re gorgeous, smart, talented, and wealthy in your own right. You’re a hotshot celebrity doctor, damn it. That probably intimidates a lot of guys, but Garrett’s made of sterner stuff.”

  “Is he?”

  “Seems to me so far.”

  “Hmm . . .” I sip my coffee. “Well, thank you for the pep talk. I worked hard to put myself through school and start my practice, then had the fortune—or misfortune, depending on how you look at it—of being Kyler’s surgeon after his accident.” Our subsequent marriage led to the creation of Doctor Midtown, which in turn caught the attention of Eva Cross and ECRA+. To this day, it seems incredible how my life snowballed. “But right now . . . I just wish I was healthy.”

  “You’ll get there,” Roxy says firmly.

  “Not soon enough.” My depressive episodes are occurring less frequently, but they’re still an ongoing battle I wage daily. “I figure it’s better to keep to myself than expect some poor guy to deal with my issues.”

  “Pfft,” she scoffs. “No man is getting the short stick with you. You’re a serious catch.”

  I huff out a laugh. “More like seriously damaged goods.”

  She leans over the table. “Aren’t you lonely, Teagan?”

  “I find myself to be scintillating company. Don’t you?”

  “Don’t play. I really want to know.”

  “I’ve got other things on my mind most of the time.”

  I left everything behind when I moved to Washington, trying to get as far away from my past as I could without leaving the country. Aside from my neighbors and work colleagues, I don’t have many people in my life anymore, and I’m perfectly okay with that.

  “Maybe it’s time to think about putting yourself out there,” she suggests gently.

  “I don’t have the energy right now.”

  “A good relationship can charge you up. Give you support. Companionship. Sex, for God’s sake. Don’t you miss that?”

  I didn’t, I think to myself—until my body asserted its needs with desperate ferocity only yesterday. Despite how screwed up I am mentally and emotionally, I’ve apparently been resuscitated physically. “I can’t deal with another failure, to be honest.”

  She’s quiet for a while, but her thoughts are loud. Eventually, she says, “You never talk about Kyler.”

  “We divorced forever ago. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “You know that’s unusual, right? Most women can talk an earful about their exes. All the shit they did wrong, what an asshole they were. Look at Emily. She gets in a dig about Stephen every chance she gets.”

  “She’s still hurting.”

  “Honey.” Roxy shoots me an arch look. “You’re not? A woman doesn’t take a sabbatical from men if she hasn’t been hurt by one real badly.”

  I glance at my bare hands, the fingers free of any rings. “There’s no point in looking back.”

  “Maybe you need to force yourself to so you can move on.” Her voice softens. “I read the other day that Kyler’s engaged to a producer.”

  “It’s not a competition,” I say tightly, feeling anger surge despite knowing she meant well. Everyone means well, but they have no fucking idea what they’re saying. “She’s managed to help him get clean, and he’s a decent guy when he’s sober, so I wish them well.”

  “I’m sorry.” She lifts both hands in surrender. “I’m pushing.”

  And I’m on edge, which isn’t her fault.

  “I’ve just got to say this one thing,” she continues. “You shouldn’t be sitting on a shelf gathering dust.”

  The doorbell rings, and I glance at the front window. I can’t see who’s at the door, so I stand and move toward it. I pull the door open with a smile and get a jolt when I find Garrett standing on my doorstep.

  “Hi,” he greets me quietly, his expression both apologetic and wary.

  Repentance doesn’t make him any less self-assured. I find that very sexy, as I do the spatters of paint on his black boots.

  Why does the sight of those droplets give me a little buzz?

  Damn it. He’s disconcerting on so many levels, not the least of which is how powerful he is physically. He couldn’t look more relaxed, while radiating so much ferocious energy and intense sexuality that his magnetism crashes against me like waves on the shore.

  On some primal frequency, he’s signaling that he’d fuck me so hard and long that I’d forget my own name. And my body is receiving the message loud and clear.

  “Garrett!” Roxy’s voice is filled with genuine warmth. “How are you?”

  “That depends,” he replies, his gaze on me. “I’m here to grovel. I briefly debated bringing white roses as a truce offering, but I don’t want you to think I’m not taking this seriously. That said, I’m happy to shower you with gifts if that helps my cause.”

  “All of that is completely unnecessary,” I tell him briskly. “Roxy told me why you were late. I feel like an ass for brushing you off about it. Hopefully that squares us up a bit.”

  “Well, there�
�s also that great gift basket you left on my porch. I didn’t get a chance to thank you for that yet.”

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  His mouth curves. “Now who’s the liar?”

  “Just don’t get your hopes up, Frost. I’ve decided I’m happy being single.”

  His grin widens. “Okay. You can still invite me in.”

  “I could, yes. But I already have someone over.”

  “I’ve got to run home anyway,” Roxy says. She’s already on her feet and moving closer, so she’s by my side before I can say anything to her. “I have an order for coasters to fill, and I gotta get to work. But I’m looking forward to dinner tonight, Garrett.”

  “Me too,” he replies, flashing a smile at her that makes my pulse jump. He’s too handsome for my own good. He looks at me. “Let’s hope I can convince this one to join us.”

  “Good luck,” Roxy says, patting him on the shoulder when she breezes by. “She’s stubborn.”

  “Thanks for the support,” I tell her, shaking my head as she winks at me before disappearing.

  Garrett looks over my head into my living room. “I want to check out your house.”

  I sigh. Showing off my home is something I enjoy doing. It was a time capsule when I bought it, right down to the fifties-era electrical wiring, with a foundation slowly sliding toward the bluff. Preserving the home while bringing it up to modern building codes was challenging—and expensive—but the end result is something I’m very proud of. I took something broken and gave it new life.

  Still, Garrett Frost is more than a curious neighbor hitting me up at the monthly community potluck. Inviting him into my home means dealing with all the undercurrents he brings with him.

  His gaze drops down to me and locks on. “Invite me in, Teagan. Please.”

  No way anyone says no to him when he zeroes in like that. At least that’s the excuse I give myself when I take a step back and wave him in with an exaggerated flourish.

  5

  Garrett strides in, and the whole open-concept space shrinks around him. Abruptly, my home seems smaller and more intimate. He gravitates instantly to the panoramic view that elevates my house from midcentury gem to something truly special.

  I’m still standing at the door, holding it open, breathing in the lingering scent of him. I admire the shape of his silhouette against the vast sprawl of water. The way his broad shoulders taper into lean hips and long, strong legs. Even through his shirt, I can see the powerful shape of his back.

  “Your view is better than mine,” he says.

  Staring at him the way I am, I’m inclined to say both are magnificent. But he’s talking about the Sound, so . . . “We have the same view.”

  He shoots me a look over his shoulder. “You’ve got bigger windows.”

  I can’t argue with that. Midcentury architecture is all about bringing the outdoors in, and I’ve got a seemingly endless expanse of glass to prove how effective that can be. “Les and Marge adored your house.”

  He shrugs, as if he hadn’t gone to extremes to get them to sell. “It’s all right.”

  My teeth clench. “Maybe you could’ve bought a house someone actually wanted to sell.”

  “Why settle for what’s available instead of what I want?”

  I take that statement in many different ways and am irritated by every direction. “Are you trying to be unlikable?”

  “Trying? No.” Garrett turns in a slow, easy circle. His gaze roams over everything, settling on the artwork hanging on the wall above my couch.

  “She’s a local artist,” I tell him.

  “Hmm.” He turns away. “I didn’t evict your neighbors. They named their price; I paid it.”

  “You don’t know how much they loved that place.”

  “They loved the memories they made in that place,” he corrects. “Memories created with people they love. As long as they’ve got the people, the place is just a place.” He prowls out of view into the dining room.

  I take a second, willing my pulse to slow down. Why am I allowing him free rein? It’s that voice of his, I think. That intoxicating huskiness.

  I round the fireplace from the other side and find him looking down at the beautiful bottles of skin care products on the dining table. Picking up one of the boxes, he reads it, then gives me yet another glower.

  “You don’t need this stuff,” he says with a note of disgust. “You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  My brain skids to a halt, even as my heart rate kicks up another notch. I’m speechless at the compliment he tossed out as casually as flicking ash off the tip of a cigarette. Composing myself, I focus on the other part of his comment. “I helped formulate those.”

  “Really?” Interest piqued, he takes a closer look. “How does that work? The formulating, I mean.”

  Cautiously, I move closer. “I take what I know as a cosmetic surgeon—the treatments and techniques, the outcomes patients are happiest with, the most popular areas of focus—and work with a team of scientists to design the optimal combination of ingredients to deliver visible results.”

  “Ah.” He turns the box around, reading the text.

  “All good stuff,” I say, realizing I want him to be impressed. “We made it our mission to use sustainable, organic materials with a minimum of preservatives and no synthetic or artificial ingredients.”

  Garrett’s head lifts, and his attention centers on me again. I feel the intensity of his gaze, feel exposed by it.

  “Where’s your office? Seattle? Tacoma?”

  “Neither. I sold my practice when I moved here. Now I just focus on development of ECRA+ products, which means a lot of telecommuting and the occasional trip to New York.”

  “You’re not doing that reality show anymore?”

  I shake my head. “Technically, it’s on an extended hiatus, but the producers are starting to make noise, and I’m not ready to go back, so . . .”

  Those soul-searching eyes skim over my face. He sets the box down, rounds the table, and heads toward me. I move toward the door, hoping I can show him out. It’s become overwhelming, having him in my home.

  He pauses a few feet from me, glancing down the stairs that lead to the daylight basement. Then he passes right by me, heading into the hallway.

  “Excuse me.” I hurry after him but not fast enough to stop him from entering my bedroom. “You’re crossing a line now, Garrett.”

  Ignoring me, he rakes the room in a single sweeping glance. Then he reaches into the walk-in closet and flicks on the light.

  My arms cross over my chest. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  The entire master bedroom feels like a closet with him in it. And our proximity to my bed puts me on edge.

  Flipping off the light, he faces me. “Just making sure there’s no other guy in my way.”

  My chin lifts. “Not that it matters.”

  He flashes that smile. I stand there stupidly, knocked completely off-center. That simple curving of the lips is even more charismatic up close, softening his rough edges. He reminds me of dreams I once had that are gone now, a bittersweet insight that makes my heart hurt.

  “It would matter to me,” he says.

  He steps closer; I take a quick step back. He holds his hand out as if I’m a skittish animal. “Let’s go out on the deck.”

  He edges around me, definitely cautious. His gaze stays on me as mine stays on him, my body turning so that he’s never behind me. He reaches for the handle to the sliding glass door, unlocking it and sliding it open. The rush of ocean air fills my lungs and cools my heated face.

  Garrett slides the screen open and steps out, moving over to the railing. I follow, feeling less constricted the moment the screen shuts behind me and we’re both fully outside.

  I join him at the railing, positioning myself a couple of feet away. Even at that distance, I’m hyperaware of him. Of how big and powerful his body is, how focused he is on me.

  I
’m hyperaware of everything, I realize with a jolt. The blue of the sky, the green of my lawn, the sounds of the birds, the tang of salt in the air.

  “I wasn’t expecting to ever feel this way again, Teagan,” he says. “It’s intense for me. You’re telling me to ignore it, but I can’t. And if you’re being honest, you’ll admit you can’t, either.”

  His candor strips me of any weapons or defense. “I was doing fine before you got here.”

  “I don’t think so.” Garrett turns away from the view to face me directly. “This place doesn’t have a single personal photograph of friends or family or even places you’ve been. Everything hanging on your walls was chosen to suit the house, not your soul.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.” He takes another step closer. We’re toe-to-toe now, combat boots to Converse. His fingers entwine with mine. His body emanates heat, promising warmth after long months in the cold. “You’ve got a half dozen prescription bottles on your nightstand.”

  I stiffen. “You’re going too far, Garrett.”

  “I just want you to know that I see you.”

  “Then you see a hot mess.”

  “Hey, I’m fucked up, too. But we still somehow ended up right here, feeling a spark that gave me a good reason to get out of bed this morning. Some things work out when you just let them be what they are. Let’s try that for a bit and see what happens.”

  My mind scrolls through a million ways Garrett can send my life careering sideways. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “Sure you do.” His head lowers. “Kiss me.”

  “That’s a bad idea, Frost. I’m not like the house next door, you know. You don’t get to take things that are off the market simply because you want to.”

  “So what are you saying?” He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “You want to stand out here, look over at my deck, and see me with someone else?”

  I turn my head away, trying not to picture it. “Can’t you just move?”

  Garrett laughs and pulls me into a hug. “I’m not going to take the lack of jealousy personally. And no, Doc, I’m not moving. I like living next door. Right where I can see you every day.”